Breaking the Habit
by Floralia
Summary: Shielding your brother from potential threats is as natural as breathing to a Winchester, but when children are in danger, can they overcome their protective instincts and work together to get the job done? Co-written by Sendintheclowns
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Breaking the Habit

**Summary: **Shielding your brother from potential threats is as natural as breathing to a Winchester, but when children are in danger, can they overcome their protective instincts and work together to get the job done? Co-written by Sendintheclowns in honour of Gidgetgal9's birthday.

**Disclaimer: **Just for fun. We own nothing and no money was made. If Sendintheclowns profited financially from this she failed to mention it to me.

**Floralia's A/N:** Happy Birthday Gidgetgal9! Thanks for another year or fun and support. It was touch and go for a while whether we'd get this done in time since we only gave ourselves 11 months to write it, but it came together in the end. I hope you enjoy. Thanks also to Sendintheclowns for tackling this with me, and to Faye Dartmouth for the beta.

**Sendintheclowns A/N:** Many happy returns to my very good friend, Gidgetgal9! Much thanks to my talented co-writer, Floralia, who always makes writing fun instead of a chore, and to Faye Dartmouth who lent her mad beta skills to our effort. I'm so lucky to be surrounded by so many fantastic, creative people!

**Part One**

It wasn't until they were leaving Fitchburg that Dean allowed himself to finally relax. Asher and Michael were both fine, if a little less innocent than before, and the shtriga was dead. Dean hadn't realised how heavy the weight of that unfinished business had been until it was lifted.

For an instant, as he'd watched the witch feed, he'd been right back in that motel room 16 years ago, watching as Sammy was pinned, unable to do anything to stop it. But he wasn't a child anymore, and he wasn't going to let Sam down twice.

As though sensing the attention, the object of Dean's thoughts shifted in the passenger seat, snorted softly, and came to rest with his head against the passenger window with a sigh.

Dean frowned and fought down the urge to poke him, flexing his fingers on the steering wheel, determined not to allow the tension to come creeping back. It had been a long night and they'd only got a couple of hours sleep after they'd cleaned up, reassured Michael the shtriga was really gone, and then tempered his excitement over wanting news about his brother.

Even so, Dean had got them out of bed in time for check-out, keen to hit the road, and Sam hadn't complained. Dean was feeling no different to how he usually did post hunt – savouring the drive and respite. It wasn't unusual for Sam to doze while he drove – he just usually managed to last beyond mid-morning without feeling the need to do so.

He usually hadn't been fed on by an energy draining witch, either.

"Stop thinking so loud." The voice was sleepy, but Dean could hear the smile in it.

"You got a headache?" he asked.

"No, I can just hear you looking at me, and I'd rather you were looking at the road."

Sam sat up and rubbed his eyes and Dean turned to deliberately face the way they were going. Even so, he couldn't stop himself from stealing a glance at his brother as he rummaged in the footwell, sitting up triumphantly and brandishing a bottle of water.

Dean reached over and attempted to rest the back of his hand against his brother's forehead, trying not to remember the kids lying in their hospital beds, clammy and deathly pale. Sam merely ducked back in his seat and avoided Dean's hand with a scowl.

"'m 'k," Sam assured him quietly. "'m just tired."

"Well that's normal," Dean muttered, glaring pointedly at the clock barely creeping past 10am.

"With the hours we keep?" Sam smiled.

"But that's it?" Dean pressed. "No fever or surprise coma or anything?"

"I feel like I just ran a marathon," Sam shivered, sinking bonelessly into the seat and closing his eyes again, "but I don't feel sick at all." He rolled his head around in the seat and opened one eye to blink blearily in Dean's direction. "You spoke to the hospital yourself, the doc said it looked like the kids were gonna be fine."

Dean nodded and turned his attention back to the road. At least Sam hadn't belittled his concern or patronised him by telling him there was no reason for him to worry – watching your brother be attacked and then suffering through his lethargy afterwards provided plenty of opportunity for any normal person to be concerned. But like Sam had said – the kids were all awake now and expected to make a full recovery; there really was no reason to believe Sam was feeling anything but drained.

That didn't mean Dean had to like it.

"Just get some sleep," he offered. "We've got nothing to stay awake for at the moment anyway."

"I'm way ahead of you," Sam murmured, slumping down as far in his seat as his knees would allow.

Dean kept driving for the rest of the morning, just the music on low and the sound of Sam's even breathing for company. They had no hunt and no clear destination in mind, just the open road. The only stops they needed to make would be those dictated by the gas tank and his bladder.

-0-

Sam woke to silence and a cramp in his legs. He shifted to get comfortable and contemplated the merits of drifting back to sleep when he realised what the silence meant. No Guns & Roses, no low under the breath singing, and no engine noise.

They were stopped. More than that, he was alone in the car.

He sat up and looked around him, blinking. A gas station at the end of the world would not have looked dissimilar to his surroundings.

He straightened himself out with a groan and fumbled for the door. The fresh air when it hit his face was a welcome surprise and he clambered out of the car, straightening legs and a back that had been curled up for far too long.

Sam heard movement behind him and turned to see Dean striding across the lot towards him. Dean's arms were juggling coffee cups and a paper bag. He was looking at the phone in his right hand and there was a scowl on his face, one that only intensified when he saw Sam leaning on the roof of the, car watching him approach.

Dean set the bag and cups on the top of the car and slid them over to Sam's reaching hands, shaking his head as Sam inhaled the aroma of fresh coffee and donuts.

"If I knew you'd be gracing me with your presence, I'd have – hey, the jelly one was mine!"

Sam froze mid bite, eyeing Dean over the top of dough and sugar, shrugged, and kept munching. Dean gave a put upon sigh before his top half disappeared back into the car for a moment. When he straightened up, he was dragging an atlas out with him.

"Where we going?" Sam asked around a mouthful of food.

"I'll tell you as soon as I figure it out," Dean told him, glancing at his phone and tracing one finger over the surface of the map.

"He sent us co-ordinates?" Sam huffed before he could stop himself. "Unbelievable."

"Sam," Dean's voice was low and warning, more tired than spoiling for a fight, which if anything, annoyed Sam further.

"He say anything else?" Sam asked. "Like maybe, did he ask how the _last_ job went? The one _he_ sent us on, that we only walked away from this morning. Did he..?"

"No, alright," Dean raised his voice but his shoulders were low and defeated. "What do you want me to say? That the guy had a complete personality transplant since the last time we saw him? Anyway, he knows we got the job done, I text him while you were napping. At least he's communicating now."

"Communicating," Sam snorted and shook his head. He was breathing hard but nothing could frustrate him to the degree his father did. Or was Dean the one he was angry with? Not for the blind loyalty, but for believing he wasn't worth anything in return. Sam knew how hard the last hunt had been for him, the memories and emotions it had stirred up; it was no wonder Dean didn't believe it was okay for him to acknowledge that if their father wouldn't either. There was no point in Sam trying to change Dean's mind on the subject, it was a losing battle; one he didn't have the energy for at the moment.

"So where are we going?" he said instead. Dean flashed him a look that could have been irritation or could have been grateful surprise, and turned his attention back to the map folded out on the car's hood. Sam leaned his two hands on the roof of the car and let Dean work, lowering his head slightly between his outstretched arms. His pulse was suddenly unusually loud in his ears and he swallowed, trying to clear it, fixing his attention on a chewing gum stain on the ground until it stopped shimmering in and out of focus.

When he looked up again, if possible, the lines of Dean's jaw looked even grimmer.

"Town called Olin," Dean offered finally. "It's a speck on the map about 200 miles west of here. We should be able to get there, get a feel for the place, before nightfall."

Sam nodded. "Want me to drive for a bit?" he asked as a peace offering.

Dean just snorted and shook his head, gathering up the map and wrenching open the driver's side door.

Sam sighed and ducked back into the car. Dean pulled out of the gas station at a speed that said clearly he did not want to talk, and there was nothing Sam could do to look into whatever job their father had seen fit to send them on now. When they arrived in town, he would get online and check out the local news reports for any strange occurrences, but for now he would have to satisfy himself with watching the scenery flash by.

By the time they had rejoined the highway, he was already asleep.

-0-

It didn't take long to figure out what they were in town to investigate. Dean saw the first missing person notice on a lamp-post as soon as they hit the main street and had passed another three copies by the time they'd pulled into the lot of a local motel.

When he came out of the office after checking in, Sam was leaning against a pillar of the motel's veranda, studying one of the notices; Dean could see its torn edge and the fraying bits of paper around the rim of the tack in the pillar where Sam had torn it from the wall.

"First kid went missing four days ago," Dean told him. "Disappeared from the local park when his babysitter's back was turned. Then Tracy here vanished from the same playing field after soccer practice last night."

Sam frowned as he studied the picture of the little blond girl staring with a gap toothed grin out of the flyer in his hand.

"According to the guy in there," he nodded his head to the office he'd just vacated, "the police have no leads, nothing to go on. The kids just disappeared. No warning, no ransom, no bodies showing up."

Sam's jaw twitched and Dean knew he was wondering the same thing – whether the lack of a body was necessarily a good thing.

"Room 5," he prompted when it looked as though Sam was going to get lost in his thought. Sam started slightly and grabbed the bags he'd left by his feet before leading the way to their room, moving aside to let Dean open it and following him inside.

It was too late in the day to start asking questions in town, but too early to head out and take a look at the site where the kids had gone missing. Dean asked a couple of questions at the diner when he headed out to get food but didn't learn anything new. He would maybe hit a bar later, see what kind of news or stories he could weed out of the locals, but for the time being, they were limited to what research they could do from their room.

Luckily, after sleeping away the majority of the day, Sam seemed to finally be awake and more than up to the challenge.

Dean sat on his brother's bed, picking at the remains of his fries while he scanned their father's journal for any flags he may have raised in the area or similar cases, any reason why two missing kids would have pinged so clearly on the Winchester radar.

He could tell Sam was on to something by the way the sound of his fingers on the keyboard shifted, the backtracking and thoughtful pauses. When he leaned over and started flipping through the pages of the local paper Dean had thrown him with dinner, Dean was distracted enough to lay the journal down on the bed by his leg, lean back against the headboard and give his brother his undivided attention.

"What have you got?"

Sam was seated at a table on the other side of the room, eyes flicking between the paper in his hand and an article on the screen, face pulled into a frown.

"Maybe nothing," he admitted slowly.

"But…" Dean prompted.

"There was a group of kids in the park the day the first kid disappeared. The police questioned all of them at the time, including Cody and Nicola Cockerill, a brother and sister that had actually been there to meet the missing kid." Sam trailed off.

"Yeah, and…"

Sam sighed. "And Nicola was part of the same soccer team as the second missing kid, Tracy. She was at the playing field that evening too, when Tracy disappeared. So was her brother. It might be co-incidence – most of the kids in this town probably know each other or are connected in some way. But…"

"But these two just happened to be present when both of their friends vanish?" Dean pulled a face. It paid not to believe in co-incidences, as appealing as they could be. "So, what? They're connected to this somehow; to whatever it is that's taking their friends?"

"Could be," Sam offered reluctantly.

God, he hated jobs that involved kids. Hated that they seemed to stumble on so many of them. He'd been the one to rid his brother of his innocence, the belief that monsters weren't real and there was nothing that went bump in the night or stole children from their beds. He couldn't stand having to do the same to others, too. Their last case, the shtriga and his own failure, were still too close. Anything that could target children was extra nasty in his book, and Sam had barely recovered from their last hunt.

"Maybe they don't play well with others," he suggested. "Had a bit of a falling out with Dougie over who got to ride they swing, didn't like the way Tracy played ball. Maybe something's watching out for them, acting on their grudges."

Sam voiced the alternative; the one Dean had been more reluctant to dwell on.

"Either that or they're in a boat load of danger."

-0-

Sam blinked his eyes open after he removed the pillow Dean had thrown on top of his head. As far as Dean's wake up calls went, it was pretty subtle.

Levering himself up on his elbows, he stared blearily at Dean who was standing at the foot of his bed. Creepy. Sam cleared his throat, "'Morning."

Dean's eyes shifted from his face to the alarm clock between the beds. "Almost afternoon."

The words were casual but his brother's tone was anything but. Sam's eyes shifted to the clock-11:30 AM. No wonder Dean was worried. He'd taken a shower and turned in around 10 which meant he'd managed to sleep more than twelve hours. Sam never slept that long. "Why didn't you wake me?"

The lines bracketing Dean's mouth deepened. "I did. Apparently you needed the sleep."

Sam slid out of bed with alacrity, whirling around to make the bed. The world did a quick spin and he put out a hand out on the soft surface to steady himself, closing his eyes against the dizziness.

"Whoa. You'd better sit before you fall down."

Calloused fingers dug into his arms, easing him on to the bed. He wanted to protest when a hand pushed his head down between his legs but as soon as his head was lowered, the dizziness passed. The heavy weight of his brother's hand cupping the back of his neck reminded Sam he'd better pull himself together otherwise Dean would flip out. He sat up gingerly, squinting against the bright sunlight dappling the room, a spotlight to the dust moats gently wafting toward the ground. "'m okay. Just stood up too fast."

"Uh huh." Dean's hand shifted to his shoulder, a steadying presence. "Why don't you pull the other leg?"

At least Dean hadn't told him to pull his finger. Sam shook his head, pleased that the dizziness didn't descend again. He took an inventory of his body and decided he felt well rested but a little sore. Thirteen and a half hours in bed would do that to a person though. "Really, I feel fine. I think I really did just stand up too fast."

To illustrate his point, Sam rose to his feet and stretched. No head spins. And it felt good to move around.

Dean frowned. It wasn't his usual glower of impatience. More like concern, which automatically made Sam feel guilty; Dean had enough on his plate, he didn't need to be worrying needlessly about Sam. Although to be honest, if their situations were reversed, Sam would be concerned.

Bright green eyes followed his progress into the bathroom. Sam brushed his teeth ruthlessly before splashing water on his face. He reached blindly for the towel and startled when the cheap material was thrust into his hands. "Here." Dean paused while Sam dried his face. "Are you sure you feel okay? 'Cause I gotta tell you, you're beginning to worry me here, Rip Van Winkle."

Crinkling his nose, Sam put the towel back on the rack. He didn't want to minimize Dean's concerns but he didn't think anything was wrong. And he wanted to work on the case. "How about we make a deal? If I'm still feeling rocky in a day or two, then I'll get checked out." He made sure to make eye contact so that Dean would know he wasn't pulling a fast one. "Honestly, I'll tell you if something's wrong. Now what's the plan?"

The only way to remove Dean's lingering concern was to prove he was okay and that meant getting on with the interviews and research. Fortunately, after a searching look, Dean let it drop. "I did some calling around and found out there's soccer practice at the park today. You've got fifteen minutes before we roll."

Sam hustled out of the bathroom and dug around in his bag, pulling out a pair of jeans that passed the sniff test. "So what's our angle? There's a name for men who hang around parks looking at young boys and girls and I don't think it'll help our credibility if we get tagged with it."

His brother snorted as he checked his gun before tucking it into the waistband of his jeans. "Well this is soccer practice so I'm gonna scope out the soccer moms. I'm sure you can come up with something."

Soccer. The first team sport he'd been allowed to compete in and oh how he'd savored the freedom of attending practices and acting like a normal kid. It hadn't hurt any that their team had won state that year or that Sam had scored the winning goal of the championship game. Yeah, he could work with soccer.

After pulling a fresh t-shirt on, Sam swiped the car keys off the tiny lump of particle board masquerading as a table. Dean predictably protested. "Hey, what are you doing? And more importantly, aren't you forgetting something?"

Sam followed Dean's gaze and grinned sheepishly while he wiggled his sock-clad feet. "The new soccer coach needs tennis shoes out of the car, not shit kicker boots."

Dean grinned in response. It was the first sincere smile his brother had flashed since the whole shtriga hunt had come up and something loosened in Sam's chest.

Things were looking up.

-0-

Everyone stopped to stare at the sleek black machine as it purred to a stop; Dean let himself bask in the adulation of the kids and adults littering Sportsman Park as he pulled the Impala up to the curb. He was happy he'd wrestled the keys away from Sam before they'd hit the road. Nothing made him happier than showing off his wheels.

His brother wrinkled his nose but for once didn't comment on how memorable the Impala was and what a handicap that could be when trying to maintain a low profile. Instead Sam stepped out of the car and plastered an easy smile on his face. "I'm gonna flash my FBI badge and tell the other coaches that I need to question the kids about the disappearances but if they let me stand in as another coach, it'll be less jarring for the team."

Sam waited for Dean to nod in agreement before he headed toward a small cluster of adults intent on setting orange cones on the grass. Dean went in the other direction, making toward the bleachers where the soccer moms, and a few dads, were hanging out. He had to admit, Sam's cover was smooth.

"Hi. My name is Dean. Mind if I join you?" Dean settled a row down from where a brunette lounged, turning her face toward the sun.

The brunette stretched to show off her fantastic figure before sitting up. "Hi, I'm Amber. Welcome." She aimed a provocative smile toward Dean. "My son Alex, the one in the orange shorts, is out there running around. Which one is yours?"

The one with shaggy brown hair blowing in his face and ridiculously long legs was how Dean wanted to answer, but instead he made a noncommittal noise and turned up the wattage on his smile. "Oh, I'm thinking of settling down here so I thought I'd check out the sights." His eyes dipped to the valley revealed by tight cotton before he turned his attention to the shrieking kids trying to dribble the ball between cones. His lips relaxed into a softer smile as he noticed the way Sam took a boy and girl to the side and coached them through some moves. Dean might be a flirt but Sam had always shown endless patience with the people they interviewed and he obviously had these kids under his spell, the girl giggling while the boy stared up at his tall brother with awe.

Dean cleared his throat. "So I saw some flyers when I was down town. What's that about?"

The smile on Amber's face slid into a frown. "Oh, it's just awful. First poor Dougie disappeared and then Tracy. We all thought Dougie Sr. had taken off with his son until Tracy went missing, too. That's why so many parents are here today...no one wants to let their kids out of sight."

"What do the police think is going on?" Dean asked casually.

Amber snorted. "Barney Fife? Hasn't gotta clue. Says the disappearances are unrelated and that there's nothing to worry about."

Dean leaned in toward Amber and asked softly, "What do you think happened?"

"I thought maybe the kids had fallen into the pond and drowned but what are the chances that would happen to two kids just days apart?" Amber was twirling her dark ringlets around her index finger, her eyes clouded with unhappiness.

A somber mood descended over Amber and Dean respected the quiet, content to watch the kids. He noticed the way the kids took turns, scanning the bleachers, waiting to make eye contact with a mom or dad. All except the two kids with Sam, who seemed to thrive on his attention. Dean had a hunch they were Cody and Nicola and his brother was subtly pumping them for information while coaching them.

Dean's eyes followed as Sam ran next to the two kids, hair bouncing, as he gave them instructions. It took Dean back to Sam's childhood, his little brother all hair and skinny limbs, begging Dean to play with him.

Without conscious thought, Dean found himself moving toward his brother when Sam suddenly halted, bending over at the waist, hands braced on his thighs. He emitted a wheezing cough so loud that everyone on the grass turned and stared.

In a moment, Dean was rubbing Sam's back, ignoring the looks aimed their way. "Dude, you okay?"

Sam nodded his head but remained in the bent position, his red cheeks contrasting with his otherwise pale skin.

"Mrs. McAlister at the foster home says you should raise your hands above your head and it'll help you catch your breath," the little boy with wavy brown hair and big eyes, very reminiscent of Sam at that age, said solemnly.

Dean didn't miss the exchange between the kids as the girl, maybe a year or two older than the boy, stuck her lower lip out in a pout and glared at the boy.

Sam straightened to his full height and raised his arms into the air even as his coughing jag was smoothing out. His brother's coughs morphed into honest to goodness giggles and soon the four of them in their little cluster were laughing.

One of the adults was calling practice to a close and the adults drifted over, collecting their kids, until only the two kids with them remained.

His brother ruffled a hand through the boy's hair. "Thanks, Cody. It was worth trying but if I looked half as silly as I felt when I raised my arms, I'm gonna have to find another way to catch my breath. Somehow I think laughing defeats the purpose."

The little boy glowed under Sam's attention. Sam seemed just as happy, his eyes lively as he looked at the kids. "Cody, Nicky, this is my brother, Dean. The one I was telling you about."

The girl, Nicky, looked from Dean to Sam and then Dean again. "How come you're so short?"

Dean ignored Sam's sputtering laughter while making eye contact with the girl with big brown eyes and long blond hair in two braids. "I'm not short. He's just a sasquatch."

Nicky smiled tentatively at Dean before turning her attention back to Sam and smiled shyly. "So will you be back to help us tomorrow, Sam?"

It had been a standing joke with the Winchesters that older women adored Sam, couldn't keep their hands off his dimpled cheeks, but here was proof that the younger, make that much younger, generation wasn't immune to his charms. Dean was happy with the demographic he attracted the attention of—street legal and hot.

"Sure, I'll see you tomorrow." Sam set his hand on Nicky's shoulder and gave it a squeeze and Dean could practically see the hearts and flowers pouring out of her while she gazed up at this brother.

Cody elbowed Nicky. "There's Mrs. McAlister. We gotta go." The little boy threw his arms around Sam's leg and hugged him. "See ya, Sam. Thanks again."

The kids trotted off toward a tall woman who was hustling across the park, occasionally glancing over their shoulders to smile at them.

"Sammy's gotta a girlfriend," Dean announced, grinning at his brother.

Sam wrinkled his nose and shrugged. "Come on, let's get some food and I'll fill you in on what I learned."

Dean could always eat and nodded agreeably but he didn't doubt for a second that Sam was using food to distract Dean from his earlier coughing fit. He pretended to go along with the ruse but once he had Sam cornered, he planned on figuring out what was going on. He refused to take chances with Sam's health.

Especially not after the shtriga had fed on him. Again.

Even so, Dean eyed the lake in consternation. There had been no sign of either of the kids since they'd vanished from this spot; he didn't like to think it but maybe Amber had a point. Maybe they _were_ at the bottom of the lake. There were plenty of nasties that liked to live in or around water, and given its proximity to the missing children it was a legitimate place to start.

His hunting instincts were telling him they needed to scope it out now while they were already here, get the lay of the land while it was still light. But they were warring with his big brother instincts, which were telling him to bundle Sam up in a jacket and get him somewhere warm. Trudging around in the Iowa chill looking for tracks or dingy caves was going to be a miserable affair at best, and that was without trying to ward off mystical pneumonia.

Sam kneaded his chest and coughed again, which made the decision easier.

"Food it is, then," he agreed, steering his brother off the pitch and back towards their waiting car. "Watching you do all that running around, I've really built up an appetite."

There was a diner not far from the sports field, and Dean led the way to booth at the back where they could talk without the fear of being overheard by the few families in there enjoying post practice ice-cream.

"Just the soup's fine, thanks," Sam told their waitress with a smile, ignoring the disapproving look Dean was throwing him over the top of his menu.

"Sure thing hon, and you?" She turned her attention to Dean.

"I'll have the meatloaf, a chicken sandwich, a coffee, some orange juice and a side of fries," he told her with a smile. He held the smile in place while she stared at him in confusion before noting his order down.

"Wow - you weren't kidding about the appetite, were you?" Sam murmured, watching her leave. She turned and looked back at them before reaching the counter, and Dean offered her a cheery wave.

"The sandwich and fries are for you, moron," Dean told him. "You slept nearly two days away; you need something more than soup. Unless you have a sore throat," he prompted. "Maybe we should get this to go, if you wanna take it easy for a…"

"Take it easy! Dean, I've barely been up two hours. I don't think we can take it any easier."

The waitress returned then to place a mug of coffee and glass of orange juice on the table in front of him. Dean waited until she'd gone before sliding the juice across the table to Sam.

Sam sighed and seemed to deflate. "I'm fine Dean, I'm just not that hungry, that's all."

He accepted the juice with more good grace than Dean had expected.

"Sure you are," Dean agreed. "You're just tired, have a sore throat, and can't stop coughing, right?"

"Something like that," Sam murmured around his straw with a smile. "And I've stopped coughing now, haven't I?" he asked before taking a mouthful of juice, spluttering and breaking off to cough into his elbow.

"That one was the juice, I swallowed wrong, it doesn't count."

"Really," Dean drawled.

"Look, do you want to hear what I found out or not?"

Dean had to admit, maybe Sam's throat wasn't bothering him like Dean thought if he could put that much of a bitch whine into his voice.

"Sure," he relented. "What do you know?"

Sam leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he began to talk. Dean mirrored the position.

"Cody and Nicky _were_ at the field the day both kids disappeared. They're there a lot. The Mrs. McAlister they were talking about runs a foster home here in town. The property actually overlooks the far end of the field, farther towards the lake. The house has only just re-opened after some building work that needed to be done. Cody and Nicky have been living there a little over two weeks. So far they're the only kids that have moved back in."

"So you're thinking a spirit maybe? Something that got disturbed during the renovations and has somehow latched on to these kids?" If they were orphans, passed around from home to home, that had to stir up some strong emotions. Certain spirits could sometimes be attracted to that kind of thing.

"Not exactly…" Sam shifted slightly, wincing uncomfortably as though he didn't think Dean would like to hear the next part of the story.

"Then what?"

"Cody doesn't like the house; doesn't like living there. He _says_ that they're not the only ones there. There's a cupboard on the ground floor, in the laundry room … He can here noises coming from it at night when the rest of the house is quiet. Noises like… gnawing sounds. So far he's been too afraid to open the door but he's convinced there's something in there." Sam winced again and looked up at him nervously. Dean's attention spiked.

"What? What are you thinking?"

"You were right, what you said about Tracy not playing fair. Nicky has bruises all round her ankles. When I asked her about them she said Tracy used to trip her a lot, on purpose, to try to get the ball."

"Yeah, so…"

"The dank cupboard under the sink, punishing naughty children, the kids going missing and a body of water on the property… I think we're dealing with a rawhead," Sam admitted reluctantly.

"Oh." Dean sat back in his seat, right hand subconsciously moving to his chest. It was only when he caught the tight look on Sam's face, and the way his brother had paled, that Dean registered the action.

"Makes sense," he continued, deliberately lowering his arm. When Sam put it like that, it made more than sense. "But it obviously doesn't find anything wrong with Cody or Nicky," he mused. "And they're the only ones staying in the house."

"So?"

"So, how does it know who's naughty and who's nice? It relies on what it can overhear while lurking under the U-bend? Isn't it more likely it's been on the field with them? Rawheads like water, and it's only more recently they've been linked with pipes and cupboards. They lived near lakes and ponds for years before we mastered plumbing and there must be plenty of places in the trees around that lake that it could hide. You said yourself – the house has been disused until recently, a site for building works. If anything, it's going to have moved _out_ of that place rather than in.

"Maybe it did…" Dean mused, leaning forwards again. "Maybe the workmen forced it out into the surrounding land and it started to have a more regular supply of kids to work on. Ones more likely to be missed…"

"I don't know…" Sam didn't sound convinced. "Nicky didn't see anything herself, but she doesn't think Cody's making it up either."

"They seemed close," Dean commented. It was possible Nicky just didn't want Sam to think her brother was a scaredy freak. She might even think if she played along it would get Sam to visit to reassure them. "The way Nicola was watching Cody, what he did… what he said."

"Children they know are disappearing. Children with a lot more roots and ties than they have. They're scared; that's gotta up the protective instincts," Sam smiled at him knowingly. "Besides – this is their third foster home this year. All they've got is each other."

"Why move them around so much," Dean wondered. "Trouble follow them?"

"We can look into it but I don't think so. I think they just got sucked into the dark side of the care system. But they're used to moving around a lot and having to get used to new places."

"Still, it can't be easy."

"I'm just saying, they're tough kids. If _they're_ scared then I think they might have good reason to be."

"But a monster in the cupboard under the sink? Doesn't that sound a little cliché?"

"These myths are out there for a reason, Dean; we know that better than anyone."

"You're right. It's just I seem to remember someone else once spinning a story about a monster in their closet and it turned out they were just attention seeking."

"Didn't work though, did it? I thought he'd hang around for a night at least, but no. Instead he decided to head off to Arizona anyway and leave me with just a monster in my cupboard and a gun."

"And me," Dean protested.

"And you," Sam relented with a smile.

"Besides," Dean pressed his point home. "He knew it was safe to leave you because the chances of their _actually_ being something in the closet of every kid who claims they've seen something…"

"Two of their friend's are missing," Sam came back incredulously. "I think that earns them the benefit of the doubt."

"Oh, I don't doubt that they heard something," Dean clarified. "But I don't think it's still there. Rawheads traditionally like damp and they like dark. The kids went missing from the park. A shelter by the lake there would fit the bill. Maybe it ventured into the house to scope them out, but once it decided they weren't targets why would it stay? It's a lot more likely that it's hiding out in the area close to its hunting ground than in a populated building."

Sam chewed on his lip and said nothing, but Dean could see he was winning his brother over with the logic in his words.

"I dunno man," Sam said at last. "I just… are we really willing to risk it? The kids that disappeared were taken in daylight, and Cody's only ever sensed this thing after dark. Maybe it comes back to the house to shelter. Rawheads escalate; their criteria for picking their victims can get woolly. They're just kids Dean… what if you're wrong?"

"Then we split up."

"What? No!" Sam sat upright and was shaking his head vehemently. "Not happening."

"It'll be fine," Dean pressed. "And it's the only way to be sure."

It was the perfect solution. Dean had wanted to avoid Sam having to traipse around outside on a damp and cold night, and here Sam was, practically begging to be allowed to stay indoors. Rawheads were nasty, Dean knew that better than anyone, and if the way Sam had been rubbing his chest and coughing into his fist when he thought Dean wasn't looking was anything to go by, he still wasn't fighting at full strength.

"It might be better to have eyes on Nicola and Cody, just in case. And they already trust you so it makes sense for you to hang there, check out the foster home. I can scope out the lake for any signs of its lair."

"As long as that's all you're gonna do," Sam said sternly.

"What?"

"If you find something, call me. Don't go in without back-up. I _mean_ it Dean," Sam emphasised, sensing Dean was about to protest.

"Right back at you." It was unlikely Sam was going to need his help babysitting the kids, but that didn't mean Dean was entirely comfortable with the idea of splitting up either. He wanted Sam to take it easy, but after Fitchburg, he wasn't keen on the idea of having his little brother out of his sight.

Sam might have been pissed at their old man but Dean knew what their dad had been thinking, sending them on another job so soon. He'd figured Dean could use the distraction, would be able to channel any lingering hang-ups he might have after fumbling his second run-in with the shtriga into saving other innocent lives. Dean couldn't fault the logic in that, as much as he knew Sam would try. But Dean also knew their dad would not have sent them out again so soon if he'd fessed up to letting Sam get munched on. Again. He remembered the way John had clung to his youngest after the first attack all too clearly to believe that.

Dean would have been happier if they'd taken the rest of the week off, taken their time searching for another gig. At least until he was sure Sam was just tired and not suffering any other effects from the shtriga. But they were here now and kids were disappearing; Sam was right, they couldn't delay.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks to everyone who's been reading. We hope you enjoy how it turns out.**  
><strong>

**Part Two**

"Call me if you find anything." Sam issued one last warning as he climbed out of the car.

"Scouts honour," Dean promised, saluting him before pointing an accusing finger in his direction. "Only if you promise to do the same."

Sam threw off the image of Dean slumped on the floor of a waterlogged basement and swallowed. "Of course."

Dean was leaning over to stare at him suspiciously through the passenger side door right until Sam closed it in his face. Calling Dean to put him in the same room as a rawhead went against every instinct Sam had but he nodded anyway, saluting back. Dean rolled his eyes with a sigh Sam could actually hear from outside the car and pulled away, leaving Sam on the curb outside the McAlister's place.

He readjusted the duffle over his shoulder, hoping the woman who owned the house wouldn't ask to look inside. He might just about be able to bluff his way into the house to have a poke around, but explaining away the shotgun, taser and other assorted weaponry he was bringing in with him would be pushing it.

Mrs. McAlister answered the door on the second ring, just as Sam was wondering whether to head around back and find his own way in. She clearly recognised him from practice earlier that day, but thankfully few people would know what a genuine FBI badge looked like if presented with one. She didn't seem entirely convinced by the logic that he'd been undercover at the playing field to get the lay of the land, but between the badge, a bit of confidence and his best 'trust me, I'm here to help' smile he was soon sat at her kitchen table with a mug of coffee and his notebook out.

He completely ignored her cue to speak quietly, knowing from experience – and the slight creaking from the landing at the top of the stairs – that there would be eavesdroppers. When you were in a new place and strangers came to call, spying on them was as natural as breathing.

Sure enough, the hint of a presence turned into a pounding on the stairs. "Sam!" Cody bound into the room with an exuberant grin, coming to a stop by the table at Sam's side and practically bouncing up and down in his excitement to be there. Nicola followed her brother into the room at a more sedate pace, rolling her eyes and trying to act casual even as her flushed cheeks and slight breathlessness from the flight down the stairs gave her away.

"Hey, Cody," Sam greeted him before flashing Nicola a smile that had her dancing over to join them.

"Have you come to play again?" Cody asked, barely able to get the words out in his excitement to find Sam sitting in his kitchen. "There's a light out in the garden, and I have a ball," he offered hopefully.

"Actually, I'm here because I'm working," Sam told them, noting as he did the way they both seemed to wilt with disappointment. "But you might be able to help me, if that's okay of course?" He addressed the last part to woman in charge, almost feeling guilty for manipulating her in this way.

"Well, I'm not sure…" she started, just as Cody resumed his excited bouncing and declared:

"Yes, yes, we can help, can't we Mrs. McAlister, pleeeeasee?"

Sam had to retreat behind his coffee mug to hide his smile, taking an extra large mouthful and spluttering, hoping the poor woman would mistake his laughter for coughs.

He winked at Nicola over their guardian's shoulder and added his own innocent, slightly hopeful stare to the two she was already faced with.

"I think you've covered all the questions I have already," he reassured her. "I won't need to ask them anything. I was just hoping to take a look around the house. It's only routine, it shouldn't take long. We're searching all the properties that overlook the playing field for… well," he looked at Cody and Nicola and cleared his throat meaningfully. "Maybe I shouldn't go into it now. But it's standard procedure, and it is for your own protection as much as anything.

"What do you say guys, want to give me a tour?"

Nicky shrugged casually but her eyes were shining with excitement, and Cody already had Sam by the hand and was pulling him to his feet.

"Now Cody, I don't think that…"

"It's fine Mrs. McAlister, really," he assured her. "I don't mind, if they want to help," he told her, as though he was resigned to it; as though it hadn't been his idea in the first place.

She sighed reluctantly and nodded, unable to hide a slight smile when Cody cheered and all but propelled Sam out of the kitchen door.

"I can show you my room first," he promised, "and I can show you my cars, and my Lego airplane and then you can see..."

"Don't keep the poor man here all night," Mrs. McAlister warned, but she threw Sam a pointed look that clearly told him she thought it was his own fault if they did.

Cody kept up a steady stream of noise all the way up the stairs, and it was only when Sam was sitting on the young boy's bed with his mother's incredibly battered old stuffed bear on his knee, and a lump in his throat, that Sam interrupted him.

"Do you remember what I told you this afternoon at practice?" he asked them, setting the bear down gently on the bed beside him and leaning forward to get their full attention. "About my brother, and how we look into scary things like your friends going missing?"

Two faces nodded at him solemnly.

"Well, I was thinking about what Cody told me about hearing noises from that cupboard in the laundry room. And I thought maybe I should check it out, while I'm here. Just to be safe."

"You really think there could be something in there?" Nicky asked, and he couldn't tell if she sounded doubtful, or afraid.

"Probably not, but I'd feel better knowing I took a look, just in case. Can you show me where the noise was coming from?"

Cody nodded, looking suddenly so much younger than he had in the park earlier that day. Sam smiled encouragingly and tried not to let his disquiet show. He'd felt like an ogre for opening Michael's eyes to a world where things actually did go bump in the night, and Cody was so much younger. All these kids that had too much faith in them. Even if he killed the evil at work here, their lives would be irrevocably altered, and Sam would leave feeling like _he_ was the monster.

Sam left them on the landing to have a brief scan of the rooms on that floor, moving loudly enough that it would sound like he was doing a thorough job on the off chance Mrs. McAlister was listening.

Cody led the way downstairs with a kind of solemn reverence totally at odds with the excitable boy Sam had come to expect. They passed through the kitchen and along another corridor, where Cody paused and pointed to a door at the end of the hall in silence. Neither child had said a word since leaving the boy's room, as though they knew without being told that they were not to advertise this part of the tour to their new guardian.

Sam opened the door a crack and peered inside. The sharp smell of detergent hit him when he inhaled the humid air, but otherwise the room was dark and empty.

Relaxing slightly, Sam pushed the door all the way open and stepped inside, flicking on the light. The room was small and crowded, a sink and work surface running along one wall with a washer and dryer beneath. There was a drying rack in the corner filled with the bright shorts and red socks the kids had been wearing the last time he'd seen them.

Cody pointed wordlessly to a walk-in cupboard at the far side of the room.

"In here?" Sam whispered, waiting for the boy to nod his confirmation before slowly lowering the bag he'd been carrying to the floor and squatting down beside it. Cody had followed him inside the room, but Nicola was hovering in the doorway uncertainly, watching her brother with nervous eyes.

Sam held her eye for a brief second and smiled reassuringly.

"Okay Cody, I need you to go wait outside with your sister now, okay?" he said quietly.

"But I want to stay in here with you," Cody protested. "I can help."

"You _can_ help," Sam agreed. "And right now I need you to keep your sister safe for me, just in case. Because I can't do that and look in the cupboard at the same time." He glanced up at Nicola apologetically but she didn't argue the need to be protected or protest that she wasn't scared; she just nodded gratefully in understanding and held out her hand for her brother, beckoning him back out the room.

"I need you to wait father down the corridor," Sam told them. "Stay in the kitchen."

Cody looked back longingly at Sam before nodding slightly reluctantly and allowing his sister to shepherd him down the hall.

Sam waited until the door swung closed behind them before opening his duffle. He was only going to take a peek, confirm one way or another whether the rawhead was using the house as a base. But that didn't mean he wasn't going to be ready for it if it was there.

Taking one last glance at the closed door, he slipped the taser out of the bag and flicked the power on. He made sure the shotgun and replacement air cartridge were at the top of the bag for easy access, checked the knife at his belt, and rose to his feet.

When he reached the cupboard, he paused, tilting his head slightly as he strained to listen. He could hear a gurgling from the pipes along the wall, poorly muted whispering from under the door at the other side of the room, and… there. Sam held his breath and leaned in closer. A faint, hollow scratching noise coming from the supposedly empty space in front of him.

He couldn't call Dean for backup unless he knew for sure. Exhaling quietly, Sam took another breath and reached for the door handle, hesitating to readjust his grip on the taser before his hand made contact with the metal.

Slowly, and very carefully, he lowered the handle, wincing at the slight click as the catch slid free. Biting his lip and trying to keep absolutely silent, he pulled the door open a crack and peered inside.

He flinched at the musty odour that seeped out from inside. The scratching noise was louder now it was no longer muffled by the door. It was a moment before his eyes adjusted to the dark, another before he his brain registered what he was looking at. Beyond the mop and bucket, tucked away at the back of the space beneath the pipes, he thought he saw something move.

He leaned in and squinted harder. A tall pile of stained and dirty blankets was tucked away in the corner, nestling on what looked to be the remains of a broken barrel, ribs curled and jagged. There were two pinpricks of light shining from the top of the pile, reflecting in the glow shining in through the gap in the door. As he watches the lights flickered… blinked, and Sam's brain finally made sense of what it was looking at.

The pile of blankets was in fact a stocky, crouching figure, hide thick with wiry fur. The russet stains were patchy, some of them still damp, and ran in rivulets down the creatures face and shoulders to its clawed hands and feet. The head of a femur poked out from between its claws. The ground at the creature's feet was littered with scraps of bone. Sam swallowed back bile. What he'd mistaken for the broken remains of a barrel was in fact a shattered rib-cage. And the gnawing sound…

Sam swallowed again and drew his head back from the gap, unable to draw his gaze away from the creature's face.

Which was how he realised it was nolonger blinking.

He pulled back with a gasp just as the crouching figure launched itself forward. He slammed the door but that didn't stop it. It burst through in a shower of splinters and claws. The taser was still in his hand but he didn't have time to raise it, to think of much of anything before his back was hitting the floor, he was blinking away wood chips, and it was on him.

He couldn't tell what were shards of door and what were claws but all of them were sharp and the creature's damp weight was on him, and when he tried to breathe, the air was putrid with decay.

There was a sharp pain in his thigh and he brought both hands up to push against its chest, to beat it back and keep its jaws clear while he planted his right foot firmly in the centre of its mass.

The rawhead grabbed his straining arms as Sam pushed against it with his heel, straightening his leg and throwing if from him with an almighty heave. He was unable to keep in the scream as its claws were torn free.

It landed in the ruins of its cupboard but Sam didn't spare the time to watch it land, he was already scuttling backwards and struggling to his feet. His right hand found the taser again as he rose and he could already hear the rawhead pulling itself upright. It was too close and he had no time; he had to put some distance between them before he could turn and fire. He only had one spare air canister and it would take time to reload; he couldn't afford to waste a shot.

He grabbed the duffle with his left hand as he crossed the room and bolted for the door, fumbling slightly to get out, reluctant to relinquish either of the items he carried.

He kicked the door closed behind him as he ran but he didn't waste his energy trying to barricade it closed. He already knew how little a challenge a door was going to pose.

Nicola and Cody were hovering at the end of the hallway by the open kitchen door. Any relief they might have exhibited at the sight of him quickly vanished as when they saw the look on his face.

"Go," he waved at them frantically. "Run."

The door exploded behind him and Nicky let out an ear-splitting scream, almost matched by her brother's.

Two-thirds of the corridor was going to have to be enough distance. Throwing the duffle forwards towards the screaming children, Sam turned, raised the taser with both hands to keep it steady, and smiled with grim satisfaction as he caught the rawhead in his sights.

There was a rattling to his right but he ignored it and squeezed the trigger just as the door he had paused in front of was flung open. It caught him square in the shoulder, jolting his grip on the weapon.

"What the hell's going on here?"

The electrodes embedded harmlessly in the carpet as the shot went wide.

Sam turned to see Mrs. McAlister standing in the doorway to the right of him, staring at him in horror.

"Stay in there and don't move," he told her sternly, slamming the door closed in her faced.

The rawhead had paused to avoid the shot from the taser, but the attempt on its life had only enraged it. It crouched low, then took off towards him at a run.

Sam had no other option. He turned and fled in the opposite direction.

"Go, go, go, go, go," he yelled, grateful that the kids had finally got over their shock enough to actually start moving. He didn't have time to worry about Mrs. McAlister now – the rawhead was too intent on him to pose a threat to her at the moment. As long as she stayed in that room until it was passed, she could maybe slip away.

He grabbed the bag with his right hand - still holding the taser - as he ran, and scooped up Cody with his left arm while he was half way across the kitchen, refusing to let the additional weight slow him down.

Nicola was already out of the room ahead of him and heading down the hall.

Instead of continuing forward to the front door, the girl turned and headed for the stairs.

"No, outside," Sam yelled, but she was already on the second step. She stumbled as she tried to turn. "Shit, keep going," Sam decided. "Go up." She nodded and took off up the stairs, Sam and Cody following.

He'd thought it was a horror movie cliché, but apparently kids really _did_ run and hide upstairs rather than thinking to go out the front door. She was already committed to the action now; he didn't have time to stop her and he couldn't get Cody out without leaving her vulnerable. They had to stick together.

They were half way up the stairs when Nicola dropped with a scream. They were going back on themselves, the stairs running parallel to the passage they'd just run down. A hairy arm was poking through the rungs in the banister, hand snatching at her ankles. She screamed again as she was dragged down a couple of steps.

Sam dropped Cody onto the step at her side, away from the searching fingers, and pushed him upwards, palm firm on the flat of the little boy's back. Then he spun and shoved the full weight of his body and the heavy weapons bag into the creature's snarling, blood splattered, face.

Its back legs were on the banister now too as it attempted to clamber over onto the stairs, but it let go of the girl's ankle to protect its eyes, claws tearing into the material of the bag, twisting, ripping, and it was all Sam could do to hold on and not be wrenched sideways off the stairs.

Nicola found her feet. Cody had scrambled past her and was pulling on her wrist from above, dragging them both free of the stairs.

Sam kicked at the claws gripping onto the bottom rung of the banister, finally knocking them free. The rawhead twisted as it fell, its claws still tangled in the bag even as Sam tried to pull it free.

He could hear the ripping noise over the snarls of rage, but there was nothing he could do about it. The rawhead's claws were being held at bay by the bag and if he changed his hold, he risked losing an arm. All he could do was watch as the seam tore and the contents started spilling out.

The replacement canister for the taser landed on the step by his foot. It bounced. A missing arm was about to be the least of his worried. Shoving the rawhead back viciously with one arm, he made a desperate attempt to grab it with his free hand but it was just beyond his reach. It hit every other step before rolling to a stop on the welcome mat by the front door.

Sam swore in frustration.

The bag was rapidly emptying now. Soon the layer of canvas would be his only shield.

He made the split second decision to abandon the bag. With another firm kick, he fumbled in the bag with his free hand, gripping the barrel of the shotgun still tangled inside it. A carton of shells shook loose, rock salt cartridges scattering across the stairwell.

For one horrible moment, he thought he would have to abandon the gun too as he struggled to free it from the bag's strap, but with one final yank, the bag and the rawhead were on the floor and Sam was crashing into the wall, shotgun still in hand.

The creature sprang upward, seeming to hang in mid air, presenting the perfect target.

Sam obliged and without pausing to think about it, he raised the gun and fired.

The kick back slammed him heavily against the wall and he was blinking back stars. Nicola screamed again but the sound was muted with the discharge still ringing in his ears. The rawhead disappeared from view, falling away from the banister and back onto the landing floor.

He wasn't stupid enough to peer over the edge and see if the rock salt had hurt it. He wasn't sure if it would normally have been enough to even slow a rawhead down, but the point blank range had hopefully dazed it, however briefly.

Sam hurriedly filled his pockets with the few spilled shotgun shells still rolling placidly on the upper stairs. Then he took off after Nicola and Cody.

He lent heavily on the wall as he rounded the corner onto the landing, panting hard, trying to blink back the stars still crowding his vision. They were hovering in the doorway to Cody's room, Nicky beckoning frantically at him to hurry.

Sam shook his head and pushed away from the wall, swallowing down a sudden wave of nausea.

"Keep going, farther down," he issued quietly, turning to look back at the stairwell, which was still ominously silent. "Come on, quick. Through there." He herded them down the corridor to a door near its end.

"But that's Mrs. McAlister's room," Cody protested. "We can't go in there."

"I don't think she'll mind," Sam assured him, reaching past them and opening the door, leaning on the jam while he hurried them inside.

The room was bright and floral. The children were obviously uncomfortable to be in there but more importantly, as Sam remembered from his brief aborted tour, it had two entrances; the one they had just come through, and another at the far side of the room leading to a second staircase at the back of the house.

As quietly as he could, Sam grabbed the edge of the dressing table standing against the wall by the door and dragged it over so it was blocking the entrance. In the long run, it would do little to stop the rawhead's progress, but it might buy them a little time.

"What do we do now?"

"Can you kill it?"

"What about Mrs. McAlister?"

"Can I hold the gun?"

Sam leaned his elbow against the wall, cradling his head and trying to think. Two pairs of eyes peered at him expectantly, talking at him faster than he could keep up with.

"Sam?" Nicola called softly, taking a step towards him.

His arm slipped down the wall, throwing him off balance and he stumbled, the shotgun clattering loudly on the hardwood floor. When he straightened up, there was a streak of red against the magnolia wall.

"Sam." He blinked, bringing her face back into focus. "I said you're bleeding."

He looked down to see the sleeves of his shirt were both stained with blood. He remembered the claws raking across his biceps back in the laundry room and again during the battle on the stairs. Now he was thinking about it, his arms were starting to sting.

Nicola was still watching him, expression anxious. Cody had quieted too, he was biting his lip, eyes worryingly moist.

"I'm okay," he reassured them. He had to fight back a wave of dizziness as he bent to retrieve the shotgun, crossing the room and placing it on the bed where it was easily within his reach. The wound on his right arm was the worst, but there was little he could do about either of them now. Slowing the bleeding might buy them time, and maybe it would make them feel better to try.

"It's a scratch, we just need to… here." Slipping the knife from his belt, he used it to cut the frill off the edge of the floral bedspread. "Looks better without it anyway," he told Cody with a wink. He handed the flowery strip of bandage to Nicola. "Here, can you tie around there for me… tight." He winced. "Good."

The door rattled, the dressing table sliding an inch away from the wall, then fell still. There was a loud exhale of breath, then the corridor outside was silent.

Sam picked up the shotgun with his left hand, using his right to cup Nicola's cheek and draw her protectively close. Her hands fisted in his shirt briefly before she allowed herself to be manoeuvred behind him. Sam motioned to Cody with the hand holding the gun to fall into position on his other side.

He shifted the gun to his right hand, holding it ready, and backed slowly away from the door. He had his knife and shotgun but the only thing that could kill this thing was back in the stairwell, its replacement cartridge by the front door. Small fingers curled into the hem of his shirt and he straightened, his stance firm.

He'd known splitting up had been a bad idea, even if the thought of Dean near a deathly jolt of electricity made him want to vomit. But there was no way he could do this alone; all he had the means to do was keep it at bay.

He spared a brief glance to the children huddled behind him. Even after he'd shattered their world, even after he'd showed them the monsters that could live in the dark, they still stared back at him with nothing but trust in their eyes.

It was time to do something to earn that trust.

-0-

Dean swore softly as he called Sam's cell and went straight into voicemail. Splitting up had seemed like the perfect idea at the time, despite what the B-Movie horror films espoused; Dean dealing with the rawhead while Sam got to spend time indoors with the kids had seemed like a win-win situation. Except the lake had been a bust and now Dean's anxiety was ratcheting upward the longer he tried, and failed, to reach his brother.

Sprinting back to the Impala, Dean slung his weapons bag in the passenger seat—Sam's seat—and fired up the engine, ignoring the idyllic lakeside setting in his rearview mirror as he peeled out.

During the short drive he tried Sam's cell continuously. No dice.

Weapons bag in hand, Dean climbed the stairs to the McAlister's house and raised his hand to knock but abandoned that when he heard kids screaming inside. The front door was unlocked—Dean had to love these small towns where the idea of safety didn't include locking a door or having an alarm system—so he barreled inside, pausing on the welcome mat to figure out where the commotion was coming from.

His boot crunched something underfoot and Dean glanced down, more adrenaline shooting through his system as he recognized the replacement canister for the taser. A high pitched squeal had him bounding upstairs, his eyes cataloging loose rock salt cartridges scattered on the stairs. Instead of spreading breadcrumbs, it looked as though Sam had resorted to spreading the contents of his weapons bag for Dean to follow.

He almost lost his footing as he noticed a spray of red on the stairs and wall. Blood.

Sammy's blood? Dean ran up the stairs doing double time, following the path of red drips coating the floor. Making it slick. Making Dean nauseous.

Dean found where the trail of blood ended, right outside a closed door. His gun had been in his hand from the moment the kids had screamed and he raised it at the ready as he pushed the door open, putting his shoulder against it when he met resistance. He made enough space to slip an arm through so he could shove what turned out to be a table blocking the door.

Unnatural silence and two sets of very scared, very young eyes greeted him from where they were peaking at him from the closet door that was cracked open. Not exactly the best hiding place but before he pointed that out, his eyes darted around the room and alighted upon the smudge of bright red on the wall. More blood. "Are you okay? Where's Sam?"

Dean was practically growling he was so tense but he wasn't a stranger to the kids and Nicky spoke up promptly. "Cody was right. There _was _something in the cupboard. It came after us but Sam helped us. We're okay. But Sam—"

"Sam's hurt!" The younger boy blurted out. "But he told us to stay put and he'd take care of the monster. He said to tell you it's a raw—"

When Cody paused, swallowing convulsively, Nicky finished his thought. "—head."

"Okay, I'm going to get you to safety and then find Sam. Let's go." For a moment Dean had that warm, mushy feeling that made him want to smile, laugh, maybe even dance; Sam had known Dean would come for him. His little brother still counted on him.

Dean pushed that thought firmly aside. He expected the kids to fall in line behind him but when he got to the door, he turned to find Nicky and Cody standing next to the closet, but they weren't moving. "What now?"

"We're not leaving without Sam!" Cody spoke quietly but insistently. One moment the young boy had been all huge eyes and in need of protection and now he was acting like he was calling the shots instead of Dean. It really was like dealing with a miniature version of his brother.

"I can't help Sam and keep you safe at the same time. If you want to help Sam, follow me."

There was a brief moment of hissing between the siblings and then Nicky was confirming that they would follow.

As Dean checked the hallway and guided the kids toward the stairway, Dean couldn't help but wonder how the kids had gotten upstairs if the cupboard the rawhead was hanging out in was downstairs. Obviously these kids paid as much attention to the slasher films as Dean and Sam; splitting up…running upstairs…both of these actions screamed for retribution from the creature of the feature.

Except this time that wasn't going to happen. Dean was not going to let some second rate rawhead hurt his brother.

Dean hustled the kids downstairs and was met by the front door by Mrs. McAlister. He was expecting some sort of scene because her full lips were pursed, her wavy dark hair was disheveled, and her milky complexion was pink from exertion. She spoke before he could say a word. "You help Sam and we'll wait at the neighbors. Do you need me call anyone?"

Panicked understanding shone from her eyes and relief poured through Dean; he wouldn't have to do any fancy talking to get rid of her. She might not understand what exactly was going on but she wasn't going to make a scene. "We'll come get you when it's safe."

All but shoving the reluctant kids and woman safely from the house, Dean headed for the stairs, this time heading down. Dean grabbed his taser after tucking his Desert Eagle into the waistband of his jeans. For the second time that night, his foot crunched down on something.

A cell phone. A now cracked cell phone. Dean left it where it was and continued downward.

The basement was dark and dank and way too reminiscent of the basement where he'd confronted the last rawhead. He heard a noise in the corner and, taser at the ready, followed it.

He whipped around the corner and his heart pounded in his throat; Sam was leaning against the wall, panting softly, but upright.

"Dean. Finally." Sam slid down the drywall, landing unceremoniously on his ass. So much for being upright.

"Damn it, Sam. Why didn't you call?" Dean was kneeling next to his brother, one hand gripping the taser while the other brushed over Sam's limbs, searching for injuries.

In the dim glow of the light bulb suspended from the ceiling across the room, Dean could make out a myriad of cuts peppering Sam's pale face, some still sporting splinters. "Bloody-Bones got the jump on me. Apparently he didn't take too kindly to me finding his hiding spot. I lost everything when he tagged me 'it.' Are Cody and Nicky—?"

"They're fine. Next door with the delectable Mrs. McAlister." Dean could see the wound tied off on Sam's right bicep and it made him wince. It was time to end this Irish boogie man so he could take care of his brother. "I kind of noticed that you lost your stuff. I especially liked the trail of rock salt cartridges spread up the stairs. I hear that's very in right now."

Sam barked a laugh that quickly changed to a cough. Dean pulled Sam into his side, patting his back awkwardly, while he glanced around. Once his brother quieted, Dean could sense more than hear the quiet creep of something in the basement with them. "Come on, let's pin him down so we can let the kids know their favorite soccer coach is okay."

Dean extended his free hand and tugged Sam to his feet, only to watch any color that had seeped into his brother's face wash out as the kid staggered against the wall. It was more a controlled fall as Dean guided Sam back to the cement floor. "My leg. It won't," Sam paused, panting again, "hold my weight."

Eyes glancing downward, Dean saw the dark stain spreading across Sam's upper leg. The mother of all splinters stuck through the denim, announcing the source of the wound. "This keeps getting better and better. Let's get you upstairs and then I'll take care of this waste of flesh."

"I'm not leaving you, Dean. Leave me here and when the rawhead comes for me, you fry it." Dean already had his mouth open, marshalling his arguments, when a snick and drag nearby alerted him to how close their prey was to them. Close to his injured brother.

He didn't know if he had time enough to get Sam back up the stairs before the creature reached them, and supporting his brother's weigh wouldn't give him much room to manoeuvre in the event of an attack. They needed to finish this here.

Leaving Sam injured and in the rawhead's path, using him as bait – it went against every instinct Dean had. But as far as plans went, it was the best one they'd come up with all day. Sam obviously trusted him to take the monster down in time, and Dean trusted his brother's instincts – they'd been right so far. A little too right.

Dean melted back into the darkness, hoping the scent of Sam's blood would throw the rawhead off his own trail. It didn't take long before a crouching form shuffled toward the wilting body heaped against the wall.

He hoped to hell that Sam was playacting and hadn't actually passed out. Checking his feet for moisture—there would be no repeat of their last meeting with a rawhead—Dean sighted the creature. It made a creepy snuffling sound and before Dean could persuade himself he'd get a better shot, he fired the taser.

There was a sizzle and a snap followed by a bright flash.

When he could see again, Dean saw the rawhead was a smoking pile of bones at Sam's feet.

Sam wasn't moving.

Dean kicked the blob away from his brother before tugging Sam back into his arms. "Nice shot." The voice was way too quiet with a slight wheeze but the kid was at least conscious.

The relief was so intense that Dean almost let himself wilt against the wall next to Sam. Instead he leaned his forehead against his brother's for a moment. Just to catch his breath.

God, he loved this kid. Even if he seemed intent on scaring the bejeezus out of Dean.

-0-

Sam didn't want to admit it to his brother, but he'd grayed out there right when Dean had moved away to line up his shot. He was sick of being the weak one, although between the shtriga's attack and the damage the rawhead had inflicted on him, Sam felt just being awake at this point was a win.

He wanted to push Dean's hands off of him, push himself to his feet, but he barely had the strength to hold his head up. He sighed, which set off a round of coughing. "Come on, Francis. The damp basement is only going to exacerbate your cough."

Exacerbate. That was a good word. Dean tried to play himself off like he was stupid but Sam wasn't going to let his brother hide behind his self deprecating sense of humor; he was wise to him. Except Dean was poking around his thigh and damn, that hurt and Sam couldn't think of anything. He could only breathe through the pain.

"Sammy? You with me?" Sam snapped his eyes open to find the intense green stare of his brother in his face.

His thigh throbbed but it had dulled to a pain he could handle. His cough had settled to an aggravating tickle. His face itched but when he raised a shaky hand, Dean grabbed it gently. "Nuh-uh. I'll take care of your splinters as soon as we get back to our motel. Unless we need to hit the hospital?"

"The motel, after we see Nicky and Cody." Dean's face split into a smile and Sam couldn't help but smile back. Except the itches flared to sharp aches over his face, which chased his smile away.

His answer seemed to satisfy Dean. He found himself hauled to his feet and he let himself lean against his brother's side, waiting for the dizziness to settle. The first thing he noticed was that Dean had taken care of the rawhead's carcass. Good riddance.

They'd find the kids and head back to the motel. Dean would patch him. They'd wait for their dad to text new coordinates.

It might not be the usual circle of life but it certainly seemed to be the pattern they were stuck in.

At least Sam was with Dean. That somehow made this whole hunting thing bearable this time around. Sam opened his mouth to share some of these amazing insights but he only managed a groan and they set off for the stairs.

Dean squeezed his hip in sympathy. Sometimes words weren't needed.

The End


End file.
